


skjgahflg

by marnies



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, Just wacky friends, Self-Indulgent, Trans Richie Tozier, Trans Stan Uris, Underage Drinking, read it if you want, theyre all trans and gay fuck you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:27:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marnies/pseuds/marnies
Summary: this is so self-indulgent read it if you want





	skjgahflg

**Author's Note:**

> literally this was just a 10 page document sitting in my stuff and i needed to get rid of it enjoy

“I’m gonna piss on the floor of a Motel 6 tonight.”

_ Pop. _

The sound of a can opening tended to remind Mike of the Rice Krispies ads he’d hear on TV in passing.  _ Snap, crackle, pop!  _ He remembered seeing that ad on the tiny, crappy screen in Derry’s local drug store behind the counter, seven years ago when he was ten. He remembered the grinning faces of those happy, archetypal children while they chowed down on cereal. That had been around the time Mike had begun to realize that he was set apart from the other kids (though at the time he still thought he was teased for being homeschooled, not because Henry Bowers was a racist ass) and had been desperately searching for ways to fit in. That had been why, the next time his father had gone to the grocery store as he only so often did, a box of Rice Krispies had somehow found its way into the grocery cart at checkout. Mike’s father had only raised an eyebrow and handed him the box to put back on the shelf. Mike had obliged.

For some reason, this memory of Rice Krispies had stuck with him ever since. Whenever he saw the ad in passing, whenever Greta Bowie smacked her gum with an obnoxious  _ pop  _ from the back of the classroom, or whenever one of the Losers cracked open a soda can on a hot Friday evening like this one; he would remember sneaking a stupid cereal box into the grocery cart when he was ten years old.

_ Pop. _

_ Pop. _

_ Pop. _

“Alright, bring ‘er in, boys!”

They weren’t drinking soda.

“Mike.” Bill’s mouth by his ear brought Mike back down to earth again. The club was sat in a circle near the old clubhouse that had long ago lost its capacity to contain even one of them, let alone seven. Still, they were stuffed knee-to-knee in between bushes where they would be hidden from sight. Hell knew the only teenagers out by the Barrens could be up to nothing but trouble in the minds of every adult in Derry. Not that they’d be incorrect to assume. “Y-you joining in?”

“‘Course he’s ‘joining in,’ Bill. We all are.” Richie had the same dangerous infliction that he took on only when about to do something like pull down the gym coaches shorts. “Ain’t that right, Stanley?”

Stan glared, as he so often did. He hunched his knees so that they didn’t touch Richie, who now practically vibrated from head to toe. Stan had been the most apprehensive of their scheme, worried about getting drunk, caught, or dead, all of which were decent concerns in Mike’s mind. Eddie and Ben had been vocally against it as well, and while Mike kept his lips sealed, he was feeling less than safe with the situation. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t excited; in fact, that was the reason most of them had agreed. They were teenagers, after all--why not act like it?

Bill passed Mike his can. He tapped it experimentally.

_ Snap.  _ He dug a finger under the top.

_ Crackle.  _ He flipped the top up, opening the can.

_ Pop.  _ Mike gulped in apprehension.

He let his shoulders slump when Beverly whispered in his ear that Bill had dumped her can out and replaced it with iced tea--so at least one of them was keeping an eye out. Mike had to force down a pang of sympathy. From what she’d told them about her dad in the past, it was no wonder she wanted to stay away from alcohol.

Bill said “cheers,” they followed with “cheers,” and Mike chased the thought away with a swig of lukewarm, bitter nectar. It might as well have been kerosene-flavored pop. So he didn’t know why he kept going. Or why he reached for another one along with Ben minutes later. Or why he opened that one.

_ Snap. _

_ Crackle. _

_ Pop. _

\--

Mike, Richie, Ben, and Bill were only two beers in and Beverly could already smell impending disaster. 

She couldn’t say she had that much concern for Richie and Bill. Those two got in and out of trouble easily enough without inebriation, and Beverly had no doubt in her mind they would bounce right back. It was the rest of them she was worried about. Already, Ben looked misty in the eyes, Mike giggled at every word spoken, and the glazed, comfortable blush all over Stan’s face made her uneasy. Those three weren’t lasting long.

Half an hour later and the whole load of beer was gone. Richie had shifted well into his “outside voice,” Bill had lost no volume but all articulation in speech, and Eddie had found an  _ immense  _ interest in Ben’s left arm. He clung to it like a leech, turning Ben’s skin red under his nails. Ben didn’t seem to mind. The boys were too caught up in their own little worlds to wonder why Bev hadn’t switched her drink, and for a moment she felt privileged to be there--to watch her friends unfiltered, experiment without any of the risks--

Then the moment was gone.

“R-R-Rich-Rich-Rich-Richie!” Bill wasn’t trying to hide his stutter at this point. It was a little cute, but mostly just reflective of how little he cared after however much he’d drank. Too much, Beverly thought, for one’s first time drinking, that was for sure. “W-wh-wh-what are--what are you--”

“To find a Motel 6!” Richie declared, marching East. Eddie had apparently lost interest in Ben’s arm in favor of Richie’s shirt, which he now clung to like a lifeline, heels dragging behind him.

“We’re finding a Motel 6!” Eddie repeated. “Richie’s gonna pee on the floor!”

The concept of this was so hilarious to Mike that he graduated from absent giggling and doubled over in laughter. Bev had to hold him up by the arm.

Richie led them on in a sloppy announcer’s Voice. “And  _ why  _ are we pissing on the floor of a Motel 6?”

Beverly tried to remind them that, “We don’t even have a Motel 6 in Derry, Rich--”

“‘Cause stick it to the Man!” Eddie shouted.

“You’re abso-fucking-lutely right, Eds!”

And that was all the encouragement the three of them needed, leaving Bev in the dust with Mike, Stan, and Ben. Ben looked on with a sentimental expression, like a grandmother hugging her children who she hasn’t seen in years; Mike shrugged as if to say  _ I guess this is what we’re doing now,  _ before setting off; and Stan just looked like a toddler ready for a nap. He blinked up at her helplessly and she pulled him to his feet.

“Alright, gang,” Beverly established. “Guess we’re going to a Motel 6.” No one moved. “Come on.”

The sun had already begun to set, turning the tree-trunks golden and the wet leaves yellow under their feet. Beverly wasn’t worried about the three getting too far ahead, especially with Eddie attached to Richie’s torso, but she could easily see Bill running off on his own if she let things get out of hand. Bev picked up the pace.

They followed the noisy chatter until Bev could see them just a little ways ahead. Luckily, Bill was only a little bit ahead of Richie and Eddie, and they seemed to be following him pretty directly anyway. Bev started walking a little faster, but Stan tripped behind her and fell on her back. She almost tipped, but steadied herself quickly, supporting him.

“Stan? You all right?”

He made no move to get up.

“Stanley?”

“Comfy,” he mumbled into the back of her shirt.

Beverly looked up. Bill and Richie were just out of sight, and she could just catch the back of Eddie’s shoe disappearing behind a tree; if they took much longer, those three were going to wake up in a tree the next morning with their shirts off and leaves in their pants.

“Alright,” she said, hoisting Stan up her back in a piggyback-ride. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Mike protested that he could carry Stan, that she was too drunk (hmm) to carry him, and he could take him off her hands. He then proceeded to laugh so hard he fell over because Stan was straining to look over Beverly’s head at a sparrow on a branch a few yards away. For a terrifying moment, he let go of her shoulders to dig out the Bird Book he still carried around, and almost slipped. With no time for shit, Beverly scooped him up bridal-style and kept walking.

She followed their voices, arms aching, to the tree under which Bill, Eddie, and Richie had stopped at, apparently forgetting all about the motel. Richie had found a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket, and Bill was lighting them up for everyone--even for Eddie, who seemed to have forgotten all about his asthma, and had one dangling from his lips. Panting, Beverly propped Stan against a tree and slapped the cigarette out of Eddie’s mouth.

“Hey! I was--”

“No, you weren’t,” Beverly established. She decided then and there that she was never going to babysit. “We’re going home, guys. It’s starting to get dark.”

“That’s what they  _ want  _ you to think,” Richie accused. He didn’t elaborate.

The sun set. Beverly realized that the next step in their adventure was finding out what direction they had come from; she’d been so caught up chasing the boys and keeping Stan from a faceplant, she’d neglected to keep track of how many times they’d turned around or changed direction (or in Richie’s case, stopped to pee--everyone’s flies had  _ definitely  _ been up back in the cramped makeshift clubhouse, or they would be having words). She looked to Eddie, the navigator, who was hugging Mike’s arm. He held Mike’s hand to his face, blinked decisively, and licked it. Bev asked for Bill’s compass.

After she’d decided that they wanted to move loosely northwest, Beverly led the pack out of the woods. Bill and Richie continued to be loud. On one occasion, the group had to stop, after Richie offered Ben a cigarette and Ben burst into tears because “you’re my best friend in the world,” “no one’s ever asked me that before,” and “where would I be without all you guys?” Around that same time, Beverly’s arms gave out and she had to put Stan down. He pouted and leaned on Bill, but it was only a matter of time before Bill would get tired, and by that point, Stan might be out for the count, and oh Christ, what was she going to do then--

“Ahoy, me buckos!” Richie’s voice cut through her panicked thoughts. “Land ho! Throw the anchor!”

She didn’t realize what he meant until a moment later, and when she did she almost cried. Ignoring Ben’s heartfelt sobs, ignoring that Eddie had started biting Bill, and ignoring the precarious fashion in which Stan was slung over Bill’s shoulder, kicking, Bev grabbed the nearest hand (Mike’s) and ran. Mike grabbed on to Ben’s hand, Ben grabbed on to Richie’s, Richie seized Eddie’s, and Eddie was attached to Stan and Bill, and when they came out of the woods they tumbled in a dizzy heap onto the grass. Richie hooted, Mike giggled, and after a moment of shock, Bev started laughing too. Thank God no one was out.

They were in a patch of grass near someone’s backyard, but they didn’t appear to be home. Someone’s wrist (she couldn’t crane her neck enough to see, but judging by the polished wristwatch, it was Stan’s) had landed just a few inches from her face, and glancing at his watch she found it to be 7:30 PM. If the family wasn’t home, they probably would be soon. But Bev didn’t want to get up just yet. She stared at the emerging stars. 

“We should probably get home,” Ben said in an oddly sober voice, and she decided he was right. She heaved herself upward to get a good look at how ridiculous they all looked. Eddie lay perpendicular across Richie’s chest, who seemed to have trouble getting hair out of his face or grass-strewn glasses clean with his arms pinned down; Mike’s face was buried in Ben’s overgrown hair, while Ben blushed furiously; Bill stared into space, mouthing words without letting any sound come out; Stan snored lightly. She stood fully and dragged them, one by one, to their feet.

She hadn’t realized they had been trekking uphill until she found that the neighborhood closest was that of Mike’s farm. It took some tree-climbing, and quite a bit of shushing to get him to his room without Mrs. Hanlon, who was by the kitchen window, noticing him, her, or the five other dumbasses waiting at the foot of the tree, but the two of them managed. Mike hadn’t stopped giggling.

“Goodnight, Beverly.”

Bev took a moment to make sure it appeared as though he had just gone to bed early before she climbed back out the window.

“Goodnight, Mike.”

They skirted around the Bowers’ farm towards Ben’s neighborhood. His mother seemed to be home, but the house only had one floor, so no tree-climbing was necessary. She dropped him off in a similar disgraceful fashion, still proud that she had managed the feat of avoiding all adults so well. Next should have come Eddie’s, but Mrs. K seemed to be doing something near the window, and Bill’s house was close by anyway, so she dropped him off (rather smoothly, she thought--Bill’s house also had a single floor, and no one even seemed to be home. This pulled at her heartstrings just a bit, but Bill seemed perfectly content. She gave a fond smile and left him in bed.)  and skirted back. By then Sonia seemed to have moved on to the television, allowing her to sneak by. She was sure to be extra careful staging his room, knowing how his mother could get, but the grip he kept on her arm did not make things easier. She landed on the grass by his window as soon as she heard Mrs. K come in.

Beverly was exhausted.  _ Only two idiots left,  _ she told herself.  _ You can do this!  _ But Richie was putting stuff in his mouth and spinning around too much for Stan to lean on, Stan was muttering about worms and flowers and swaying too precariously for Bev’s comfort, and Beverly barely had it in her to take another step. Her shoulders ached.

“I found a  _ samalander,”  _  Richie announced. He presented a pink toy salamander with googly eyes he had pulled out of the depths of his coat pocket. Beverly took it before he could start teething. She thought.

It was around 8:30 PM, from what she could see of Stan’s watch. Usually, she’d be long home by now; usually her father would kick her ass if she weren’t home by now, but tonight he was job hunting in the nearest city (although usually that meant barhopping with a chum). Her mom had spent the night at Sherry’s, helping her around the house now that she was working, or something like that. Bev had the apartment to herself.

Stan seemed to have found a tree to lean on, with his cheek mashed against it and undoubtedly leaving an imprint. Richie mouthed off to an acorn. She decided her back could go for one more round and hoisted an arm around each of her shoulders.

\--

“Sleepy?”

“Mmm.”

Want to brush your teeth?”

“Mhmm.”

“Hey. Hey--Bev-Bevvy-Bev’ly--want to hear a joke?”

“Not now, Richie.”

“Okay, so what did the hooker--”

“ _ Pweh. _ ” Splat.

“No wait, that’s not it. Wait, l’mme--”

“Richie, go put on some sweatpants. And put that down.”

“What, this?” A crash.

Beverly didn’t look to see what he meant, and Richie disappeared into the bedroom, hopefully, so he could get his binder off and make her job easier. Babysitting, she had decided, would not be her summer job that year. But she had to admit, she’d be pretty damn good at it. Turning back to the bathroom mirror, Bev tried not to snort.

“Want to wash off your face, buddy?”

“Looks like rabies,” Stan breathed.

“Uh-huh. Need a washcloth?”

“Like a badger. Or a rabbit.” He looked at his hands solemnly, as if mourning for the man he once was. Beverly wiped the toothpaste off his chin. He rinsed, then fixed her with the most grateful, watery smile she’d seen since she’d escorted Ben to his bedroom that evening. It only lasted a second before the drowsy toddler eyes set in again. He yawned.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

Richie was jumping on her bed.

Twelve minutes later and she’d managed him into a lying position and Stan had fallen face first beside him. Stan already seemed to be out cold, meaning she’d either have to find a funnel somewhere or wake him for a glass of water. Bev only sighed and tucked the blankets up to Richie’s chin. Tomorrow morning, she decided, they were getting breakfast at a diner and she wasn’t bringing her wallet. Beverly filled two glasses with tap water.

She went to Richie. “Here.” 

“Wha--”

“God, just drink it.”

Richie raised his eyebrows suggestively and tried to talk over the glass. He only spewed water all over her sheets and Stan’s sleeve and produced some unattractive gurgling noises. He looked her in the eyes with urgency, like he was trying to say something important, and not what was more likely the four thousandth piss joke of the evening. She managed to force a few gulps past him and decided that was enough (she didn’t want to drown him, she guessed. Not now, at least). She retracted the glass.

“I  _ lobe  _ you, Bevvy,” Richie said immediately. 

Stan, asleep by all appearances, made a sound that could have been “iced tea,” or “Red Sea” as easily as “no, me.”

“Nuh-uh.” Richie turned to him with betrayal and apparent understanding. “I said it first.”

“ _ NO! _ ” Stan turned his face to the side so he wasn’t muffled by the pillow, and his voice seemed to carry the unbridled rage of an avenging god, awakened by his own wrath. Bev actually took a step back before remembering he’d been clinging to her like a teddy bear minutes before. “ _ I LOVE HER MORE TH--” _ He saw the glass in her hand, and spoke in a small, polite voice: “water, please?”

He drank the whole glass with two hands and help from Bev, and thanked her quietly when finished. Richie was telling them something about what had happened in Biology the other day, and Bev pretended to listen. He’d gotten his binder off, at least, leaving it strewn on her floor to get trampled over. She bent to pick it up, and when she straightened, Richie had his hands under Stan’s shirt, fumbling with his. Stan was trying to shake Richie off, but remained in a lying position, unable to get much of an advantage. Bev put down the binder and peeled Richie off.

Propping Stan (who was practically putty in her arms) into a sitting position, Bev undid the straps of his binder and helped him out of it. He fell asleep halfway through the process. Bev tucked him in and helped Richie under the covers. Richie closed his eyes. She grabbed a blanket.

“We really love you, Bev,” Richie whispered as she left. Bev smiled.

“I know.”

The next morning, Richie, Beverly, and Stan went out to breakfast, and Beverly did not bring her wallet.


End file.
